


Don't Fear

by Vichan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-20
Updated: 2010-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vichan/pseuds/Vichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean never hesitated. He killed because Sam couldn't. He killed so Sam wouldn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Fear

**Author's Note:**

> **Genre/Characters**: Gen. Dean &amp; Sam centric, a tiny bit of Sam/Jess.  
> **Warnings:** Deathfic, though not your usual one. Graphic descriptions upped the rating.  
> **Spoilers**: Vague references up through 2.11 - _Playthings_.   
> **Notes**: Big huge thanks with cookies and mandroids to [](http://leonidaslion.livejournal.com/profile)[**leonidaslion**](http://leonidaslion.livejournal.com/) and [](http://milenaa.livejournal.com/profile)[**milenaa**](http://milenaa.livejournal.com/) for the seriously awesome beta job! I think this is actually a fic now.

The last remnants of a massive fire surrounded him, embers flying everywhere, and Sam couldn't feel the heat.

There were charred bodies right and left, fingers and faces frozen in a grimace, and Sam couldn't smell the burning flesh.

It was surreal to be looking down at his own body. The shot to the head had been clean, only small spatters of blood flecked across his face. Of course, even though he couldn't see it, Sam knew the back of his head had to have been completely blown out from the force of the shot.

Dean had made it quick.

The last few weeks had been a blur, but things were starting to make sense again. Sam remembered blood, pain and, most of all, death.

Sam had killed, and he wished he could take it all back.

Sam had completely lost himself. He'd followed orders, killed and tortured, led others to do the same. He'd always stayed a few steps ahead of Dean, but his brother was a more than capable tracker. This hunt had been no different from the rest, and the end result was the same.

He was standing in what had once been a cornfield. The corn was gone, though, replaced by bodies, blood, and fire. It was the modern day version of Antietam.

Dean was breathing deeply, his gun still held out between shaking hands.

"Dean," Sam said, smiling. Sam had held his brother to his promise, making sure Dean would keep it, right up until the moment when he finally lost himself.

_"Kill me."_

_"Sam, what the hell?"_

_"You either need to kill me right now, or run."_

_"Sammy…"_

_"Too late. Run."_

"Dean," Sam repeated. "Thank you."

Dean couldn't hear him. Sam expected that – he was dead, after all. But he needed to say _something_, whether his brother could hear him or not.

Sam was dead, and he was glad. He couldn't cause any more damage.

The gun in Dean's hand was shaking even harder now.

"Dean, it's okay," Sam said. He wished he could just have one moment that Dean would see him, hear him. He didn't want to leave his brother behind in this state.

Dean took a few staggering steps forward and fell to his knees next to his brother's body. "Sammy," he choked out. "I'm so sorry."

"Dean - really – I wanted this," Sam said, crouching down next to Dean and his own body.

The gun was turning in his brother's hands, and his eyes were falling shut.

"Dean! No!" Sam reached out to his brother, feeling useless when he saw his hand fly through Dean's arm. "Stop it!" he screamed, hoping to God that Dean would hear him, sense him…

The gun discharged, and the shot rang louder than any Sam had ever heard.

Dean fell to the ground, a gruesome sound. Sam had heard it before.

Sam had first seen his brother kill someone when he was sixteen. A man, driven insane by a spirit, had gone after their father with an axe. He was coming from behind, there wasn't enough time to warn John, and Sam was too far away to intervene. Dean raised his gun and fired. The axe fell to the ground first, and then the body.

It was the same sound Dean's body made when it fell.

After Dean fired, Sam had immediately twisted to stare at his brother, who was busy glancing right and left to make sure there were no more surprises coming. Sam had torn his eyes away from Dean's impassive face, only to have his eyes fall on the spatter of blood on the wall.

_"Sorry, sir. I should have been watching your back. I didn't see him until it was almost too late."_

That was all that had been said about Dean killing someone. A man who could have been a father, son, uncle, _brother_…

Dean hadn't even winced at taking someone's life. He'd probably done it before.

Sam stared at Dean's body. He'd fallen forward, allowing Sam a good look at the exit wound: the back of Dean's head was practically missing. Blood poured out, pooling on the ground beneath both of their bodies.

"Dean." Sam reached out again and his hand once again passed through Dean's body. Frustration bubbled up inside him – how could all the spirits they'd hunted over the years have so much power that they were able to touch things, move them, _feel_ them, while he couldn't even touch his brother?

Dean's hand was still clasped around his gun, and his arm was folded under his cheek. If Sam ignored the gaping wound in the back of Dean's head, he would have thought his brother was only sleeping.

Ever since Sam could remember, Dean had almost always slept on his stomach, one hand beneath his pillow. His fingers would be curled around the largest knife he could fit under there undetected.

His brother had slept with a gun under his pillow up until he was sixteen, when their father caught him one morning.

_"Do you want to shoot feathers straight into your brain, Dean?"_

As usual, Dean hadn't argued with their father, but immediately switched the gun for a knife. Sam didn't know if their father ever knew about the knife, if he decided it was less of a threat, or if he just came to the realization that Dean would always be prepared. He was suspicious of everyone, and ready for anything. Sam's brother loved the fight, but he would rather make a quick, easy kill than jump into a life-threatening battle.

That was why Sam had made Dean promise. Dean was always ready for the kill.

Dean never hesitated. He killed because Sam couldn't. He killed so Sam wouldn't have to.

Sam may have killed, but Dean was the killer.

Sam suddenly felt chilled – the first physical sensation he'd had since he'd woken up dead.

There was something else in the field with him.

Sam turned and took a few steps away from his brother, looking for any signs of life - or death. Another spirit. Anything.

There was nothing but the same blood and embers that he'd noticed before.

When he turned around, though, Dean was there. He was kneeling, one knee passing through his own body. Sam watched as his brother slowly rose to his feet.

"Dean!"

Sam didn't know whether to be sad or relieved that his brother was there with him, stuck in between life and death. He took a step back towards his brother, but stopped when he saw two forms near Dean. He didn't know if Dean had noticed them, since his brother was still looking down at their bodies.

At first, the figures looked like mist, transparent. As Sam watched, they gained more form, and began to resemble something human.

One was a woman with pale skin and a dark expression, looking very much like chiaroscuro personified. The other was a man, who looked like a frightening zombie version of Alfred the butler, wearing a tight smile on his face.

Sam's eyes widened. He knew, remembering Dean's description, that the man was a reaper.

"I hoped it would be later," the woman said.

"I thought it would be sooner," the man replied.

Dean raised his head to meet the two face to face. His eyes lingered on the man for a moment before drifting over to the woman.

"Do you remember us?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Dean said.

"Do you know why we're here?" the man asked.

Dean didn't respond at first. Finally, slowly, he nodded.

Sam felt a pit open in his stomach. Were the reapers going to take Dean, but not him? Was Sam going exist as a spirit, until someone burned his body? He didn't understand – he might have died violently, but he was ready to move on. That should have been enough.

"You know what you have to do." The woman gave Dean an apologetic smile as she spoke.

"I know."

The man stepped forward, grasped Dean's hand, nodded, and then disappeared. The woman wrapped her arms around Dean and stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Be brave," she said, and then she smiled. Her eyes drifted over Dean's shoulder to meet Sam's.

Dean turned around, following her gaze, and the woman was gone.

"Dean?"

Dean grinned, and warmth flooded into Sam at the sight. "Hey, Sammy."

"What's going on here, Dean?"

Dean shrugged and then a few steps to close the distance between them. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Dean?"

"It's time to go."

Sam blinked. "Was that a reaper? Did he tell you where we're going?"

"Not 'we,' Sammy. Just you."

"Are we…" Sam ran his fingers through his hair, trying to hide his shaking hands. "Are we getting split up? Are we going to different places?"

Dean didn't answer for a moment. "Something like that."

Sam couldn't hold his question back any longer. "Am I going to Hell, Dean?"

Dean's expression didn't change. "What makes you think that?"

Sam pursed his lips. His brother was just as infuriating in death as he had been in life. "You should know, Dean. You killed me for it. Did you… did you get to me in time? Or am I damned?"

Dean closed his eyes. "I wish I could tell you, Sam – I really do. But I can't."

"You mean you don't know?"

"No. I mean I'm not allowed."

Sam stared at his brother in disbelief. "Dean, you're not making any sense."

Dean grinned. "I'm dead, dude. I'm supposed to be all cryptic."

"Dean!" Sam yelled, frustrated.

"What?"

"You are being a royal dick. Jesus Christ, Dean – you just killed me, and then I watched you kill yourself! Speaking of which – no, never mind." Sam shook his head. "Can you cut me a little slack?"

Dean's expression softened. "I wish I could have stopped you, like Dad asked. I'm sorry it ended like this. I want to tell you everything, Sammy. But I _can't_. It's against the rules."

Sam looked away from his brother. "So I am going to Hell, then."

"Not necessarily."

Sam sighed. "Okay. What rules are you talking about? Can you tell me where you're going, at least?"

Dean shrugged. "Me? I'm going nowhere. And a bit of everywhere."

Sam blinked. His brother had never been the most forthright person, but death had apparently made it worse. "I don't get it."

"Think about it, Sammy. It'll come to you." Dean stretched his hand out towards his brother. "Now, are you ready to go or not? You only get one chance at this."

Sam stared at his brother's hand. "Are you actually Dean?" Sam blurted out.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"I mean… you're here, telling me it's time to go. Shouldn't a reaper be doing this? I know reapers can take on other forms. Are you just pretending to be my brother?"

Dean stared at Sam for a long moment and then burst out laughing. "Trust me, dude – I'm your brother. I'm the only one who'll put up with your emo shit for this long."

Sam couldn't help it; he reached out and punched Dean in the arm. When his fist touched Dean's shoulder, though, a jolt went through him, as if had punched an electrical socket.

"So are you going or what?" Dean's hand was still stretched out towards Sam.

Sam hesitated, but finally reached out and took Dean's hand. His brother's fingers curled around his, and Dean smiled.

The diminishing fire faded out around them. Sam felt queasy, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass.

"Good boy," Dean whispered. "You had me worried for a second there."

Sam opened one eye, and then the other, and was faced with light. "Where…" His words got caught in his throat when he saw a figure standing in front of him, bathed in white light. "Jessica?"

"Hi, Sam."

Sam almost fell into her, pulling her tight against his chest. "I missed you. God, I missed you so much."

Jessica kissed his cheek. "I know, Sam. I missed you, too. You ready to go?"

Sam nodded and kissed the top of her head, breathing in her scent. "Yeah. Hell, yeah." He glanced over at his brother.

"Dean, I still don't get it. Come with us."

Dean shook his head. "It's not my time, dude."

"But you died."

"Yup."

"Then why…?" Sam trailed off.

"Keep chipping away at it, Sammy. You'll figure it out eventually."

Sam suddenly knew the answer. Dean, his brother.

His protector.

His killer.

Dean knew death – he'd brought death, faced death, beat death. Through his entire life, death had been his art.

"Dean…"

But Dean was turning around, preparing to leave. "Bye, Jessica. Take care of my boy."

Jessica waved. "You know I will. Good bye, Dean."

"Why you, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean didn't face him, but Sam saw his shoulders stiffen. "You already know why, Sammy."

"Dean, for how long?"

Dean glanced back, raising his eyebrows. "About five minutes, dude. Don't worry, I haven't been hiding any ghastly secrets from you our whole lives."

"No, I mean… _how long_?"

Dean shrugged. "For as long as I'm needed, Sam." He turned around again, and his form began fading. Sam refused to blink until he couldn't see his brother any longer.

"Dean."

Dean's voice whispered in the air.

"_Be good, Sammy._"

And Sam smiled as Jessica took his hand and led him away.

 

_end._


End file.
